His eyes swept over the message.
Oliver is awake, it said.
For a split-second, he didn’t understand the significance of those three words, but then it hit him. He had responsibilities.
His interactions with Rose had made him forget what else had happened tonight. He was a sire now, Oliver’s sire. And it meant that he had to help him through the transition, guide him, provide counsel. Never mind that he needed counsel himself; he had to pretend now that he knew it all, that he had the solution to every problem his new prodigy would face.
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair. How he wished he could talk to somebody, to ask for advice. But he had nobody he felt comfortable confessing to. In those two hundred years since his transformation he hadn’t made one true friend. Even Zane, his fellow bodyguard at Scanguards, wasn’t close enough to him. Yes, they’d been out, whoring together, but all that was long gone. Zane was bonded to a hybrid now, Portia, a young woman, half vampire, half human. Besides, Quinn couldn’t tell anybody what was going on inside him. All he could do was fake it, not let anybody know what a mess his life had turned into.
Determined to at least get one thing in his life right, he headed for Samson’s house. Oliver needed him now, and he wasn’t going to shirk his responsibilities.
Thomas greeted him at the door. The gay biker with the sandy blond hair and easy smile waved him in. Quinn glimpsed Samson and Amaury in the living room, both pacing with their cell phones pressed to their ears, talking quickly. He gave Thomas a questioning look. Why had they left Oliver alone?
“Zane is upstairs with Oliver.” His friend motioned to the regal mahogany stairs that lead up to the second floor.
As he marched up the stairs, he was surprised that Zane was still at the house. He would have expected him to return to his mate Portia. The two were practically inseparable since they had bonded only a short time earlier.
Zane’s laughter greeted him as he opened the door to the guest room. Quinn furrowed his forehead. The last thing he had expected at a time like this was laughter. What was going on?
When he stepped into the room, he found Zane sitting in a chair next to the bed. Oliver was stretched out on the bed, holding his stomach with both hands.
“Stop!” he begged, his face contorted into a grimace. “That hurts!”
Zane waved him off. “Yeah, that’s what he said too when I poured hot wax over it.”
“What are you doing to him?” Quinn yelled, launching himself at Zane.
His colleague immediately jumped up.
“Who pissed on your grave?” Zane shot back, tossing him a surprised look.
“He’s just . . . ” Oliver’s voice died amid fits of . . . laughter.
Quinn whipped his head to stare at Oliver. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed how his prodigy’s eyes were tearing as he held in another laugh.
“I was just telling him a joke,” Zane explained.
Dumbfounded, Quinn just stood there. He had expected Oliver to be in shock. Most newly turned vampires were, especially those who’d been turned unexpectedly. However, Oliver seemed to be anything but. In fact, he looked positively . . . happy!
Suddenly, Oliver’s face contorted in pain. “Shit. Still hurts.” He motioned to his stomach.
Panicked, Quinn rushed to his side, but Zane’s hand on his shoulder held him back.
“He’s all right. His stomach wound will take a few more hours of healing though. Don’t worry, we brought a live donor in to speed up the process.”
“Who?”
“Wesley. He was closest.”
Quinn blinked in surprise. “Haven’s brother? He volunteered?” Wesley had hated vampires for a long time. But since his own brother had turned into one, it appeared his hatred had somewhat eased.
Zane shrugged. “Kind of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oliver cleared his throat, making Quinn look back at him.
“Samson offered him a job at Scanguards.”
Shit! “Wesley is a loose cannon!”
Zane chuckled. “I remember being called that myself not too long ago. And look at me now!” His bald vampire friend stretched his arms out to his sides as if presenting himself to an audience.
“You still are,” Quinn answered in dry tones. “Fuck, I should have been here. Samson shouldn’t have to clean up after me.” Instead of making sure his prodigy had everything he needed, he’d deserted him the first chance he got. What did that say about him? That he wasn’t any better than his own sire?
He ran his hand through his hair, then let his eyes travel over Oliver’s body.